Tangled Webs
by Karalora
Summary: A horror-themed one-shot posted in honor of the Halloween season. There are some very good reasons Denmark is afraid of nature... For MekkaBabble, who clicks at her own risk!


Tangled Webs

The forest was populated with ancient oaks, their trunks swollen by centuries into boles the size of mud huts, their nearly leafless branches reaching to the sky like the gnarled fingers of enormous crones, slumbering somewhere under the earth. The few remaining leaves rattled like bones in the gusts of chill wind that blasted down from the sky. It was a clear sky, the stars gleaming like dagger-points and the moon...the moon...

The moon was a blood moon, full to bursting and dyed crimson in the Earth's shadow, shedding just enough of its stained light to deepen the shadows of the trees, just enough to tease the eye and make it strain, hopelessly, for more.

Through this utterly disorienting landscape scrambled a country spirit who suffered cold sweats if he so much as entered a garden that needed weeding...

Denmark was in a bad way. He couldn't remember how he got to the horrific forest, and in all honesty he didn't think to wonder. He just staggered among the hulking trees, stumbling over the treacherously uneven ground, heart pounding, stomach lurching, arms wrapped tightly as a shield against the biting wind. Desperate to escape, but unable to _think_.

From time to time, a little whimper escaped his lips. But no tears, yet.

He nearly panicked when he blundered into the first invisible strands. In one instant, there was nothing on his skin but the cold, and in the next, an unmistakable sensation of featherlight tension drew itself across his face and clung there. With a yelp, Denmark flung himself to the ground, frantically scratching off the threads of spider silk. When he was satisfied that they were all gone, he sprawled in place, panting, pulling himself together mentally.

A spider crawled across his hand. He slapped it away on pure reflex and sat up. He had to keep moving. He dared not fall asleep here.

Continuing on through the nightmare wood, Denmark was disgusted but not entirely surprised when he walked through a second spider web. Even so, he couldn't hold back a little scream as he scrabbled at the interfering gossamer. He thought he saw the web's creator swing to a tree branch and skitter off. Or maybe it was a different spider. There were an awful lot of them around. There were...there were...

_How had he not noticed them before?_ They were _swarming._ The ground and lower tree trunks in every direction were almost covered with tiny round scuttling eight-legged shapes, their abdomens reflecting fragments of the eclipse-light so that they looked like moving drops of blood. Denmark choked back a sob of horror and looked around wildly for any hint of an escape route. It seemed hopeless—everywhere that he could see was given over to the tide of arachnids. He picked a direction at random and began running, gritting his teeth against the revolting expectation of stepping on the creatures. But that never happened. Somehow, the spiders sensed the impending fall of his feet and avoided his every step. It was as if they were deliberately clearing a path for him.

It would have to do. He had to keep moving. If he just kept at it, kept going in a direction, he would have to come to the edge of the forest sooner or later, right? He could find people, shelter, _beer_. He could relax in a hot tub with Norway or someone equally attractive and friendly and put the ordeal behind him. He could...

He could run into _another_ web, for a start. This one was the work of a larger bug, its strands thicker and stickier than the others. It didn't tear free of the supporting trees right away, which left Denmark flailing and yanking at the clinging threads. In the process, he overbalanced and fell.

The spiders attacked.

They didn't bite. The assault was far more insidious than that. In grotesque coordination, as if driven by a hive mind, they surged over Denmark's body, spinning as they went, anchoring the strands to his skin and clothes and hair, binding him in mummy-wrappings of pure silk. He soon realized what was happening and redoubled his efforts, nearly suffocating with fear. But there were too many spiders. For every filament he managed to break, five more were laid down, and as everyone knows, spider webbing is stronger for its diameter than steel wire. The one dim corner of Denmark's mind still capable of rational thought wondered: _Why?_ What did they want with him? He was poor prey for such humble little orb-weavers, whose fangs couldn't even penetrate his skin and whose venom would barely make him itch.

Nearly fully encased now, only his face still exposed, Denmark became aware that he was moving. Like most tiny creatures, a spider can lift many times its own weight, and in their thousands they were more than capable of carrying his slender frame. Immobilized within his silken shroud, he was helpless to fight them. He could not even imagine where they might be taking him, or what obscene horror was to be visited upon him when they got there.

Progress was agonizingly slow. It felt like hours before the procession arrived underneath what was surely the most massive tree in the forest, its trunk three times as large as the others, its branches spreading over an area the size of a small village. Unlike the others, this one was still cloaked in strange, limp foliage, screening out the sight of the stars and the blood moon.

The spiders carried Denmark feet-first up to the enormous trunk and set him down. It was so dark under the shadow of those draping leaves that he couldn't see what they were doing, and the wrappings were so thick that his sense of touch was also muffled. He had no idea what was happening until his legs began to lift off the ground. Then he understood. They had attached a heavy braided line to the feet end of his cocoon and were hoisting him into the air, drawing him up toward the canopy of that mammoth tree. Denmark sobbed with terror verging on despair, squirming uselessly in his bonds. He had seen his share of horror movies and knew well what must be coming.

His ascent stopped and he was left to dangle, upside-down, in the near-total darkness. Then a gap was torn in the foliage of the tree and the eclipse-light poured in. It wasn't foliage at all, he realized, but more webbing, in sheets, some of it fresh and strong, other parts old and tattered. Of course. And through the gap rappelled a fat-bodied, eight-legged shape the size of a large man. It stopped alongside Denmark and began to reach for him with the foremost pair of legs. In the red—but now brightening—light of the moon he could see the barbed claws. In the vicinity of its head was a gleam brighter still, as of a reflection on liquid.

Denmark's heart pounded so hard that he thought it might explode from his chest, or maybe just give out entirely. His will-to-survive reared up, and he screamed the name of the one he had always trusted to rescue him from the horrors of nature.

"_**NOOOORRRRRRWAAAAAYYYYYYY!**_"

And then the unthinkable occurred.

"Yesssssss?" said the giant spider in—_oh god why_—_Norway's_ voice, just as the moon moved out of the Earth's shadow and bright silver light flooded the scene.

The spider was Norway. _Norway_ was the spider. It had his mop of golden blond curls and his ocean-blue eyes—eight of them—and his warm, placid smile, now with venom-dripping fangs.

"How nice to see you, Denmark," it said, freezing Denmark's blood in his veins. "Come here. Let's cuddle." The forelegs seized the cocoon and pulled Denmark closer, closer to those fangs. Denmark squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to be looking when the monstrous version of his best friend plunged those deadly syringes into his neck, or maybe the soft part of his abdomen, and melted him from the inside and drank him like a juice box. "What's wrong, Denmark?" said the Norway-spider. "Denmark? Are you all right? Denmark? Denmark?..."

"_Denmark!_ Jeez, wake up! You're freaking me out!"

Denmark came awake to find that he was thrashing in bed, drenched in sweat and struggling for breath. Something was restraining his movement, which didn't help matters. He looked around wildly, saw Norway's face peering into his, and screamed.

"Calm down, Denmark! It's all right! It's just me!"

"_No no no no!_" Denmark bawled, his breath coming in harsh gasps. "_It's a trick! You're a—you're a—a—_"

Norway slapped him across the face, cutting short his babbling rant. "Sorry," he said. "I had to snap you out of it. You were just having a nightmare, Denmark. Look, you're all tangled up in your duvet..."

There were no fangs, no spindly clawed legs, no webs. Just Norway, the _real_ Norway, and a blanket that had gotten twisted up and wound around Denmark's torso and limbs. With Norway's help, Denmark extricated himself from the fabric and, once he was _sure_, flung himself at his best friend, shuddering with relief.

"Easy," said Norway. "God, that must have been one hell of a nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," said Denmark with a trembling voice. "Promise me something, Norway."

"Sure, what?"

"Don't ever turn into a giant spider. I'm _begging_ you."

Norway chuckled quietly. "Okay. I promise. Will you do something for me in return?"

"_Anything._"

Norway picked up a plastic bag half-full of colorful triangular candies from the nightstand and shook it. "Don't ever pig out on America's Halloween candy before bed again."

Denmark grimaced. "It's a deal."

The End


End file.
